


Don't Start What You Can't Finish

by why_bother



Category: Cars (Pixar Movies), Planes (Movies)
Genre: Airplanes, I hope these two planes aren't supposed to be brothers, M/M, Rank Disparity, Shame, Sorry Not Sorry, dubcon, getting caught, ghey, i dont do betas I just edit 1000 times, power disparity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-20
Packaged: 2021-03-18 21:29:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28873863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/why_bother/pseuds/why_bother
Summary: Echo goes too far. USS Flysenhower is forced to teach him a lesson.
Relationships: Bravo/Echo (Planes), Echo/USS Dwight D. Flysenhower (Planes)
Comments: 7
Kudos: 7





	Don't Start What You Can't Finish

The activity on the sunny deck seemed to fall silent all in a moment, and the cocky grin on Echo’s face faded slowly as he lifted back onto his landing gear, and the tip of his pointed nose rose up from the deck.  
The fleeting thought to protest arose, but disappeared in the next moment when he saw the seriousness in the USS Flysenhower’s eyes that still held his.  
 _It was an innocent mistake_! _Well,_ Echo admitted to himself, as Bravo watched him turn to leave the top deck, _not quite_ _an_ _ **innocent**_ _one_.

\-----------------------------------------

It started out as yet another unbearably hot day, in a seemingly infinite string of unbearably hot days. Two months into the announcement of extended tour, an unbearable 8 months at sea- not just _ANY_ sea, but the least favorite of Echo’s seas, the _South Pacific_ , where the only two seasons seemed to be sun and rain, and the only thing longer than endless flat horizon was the time between seeing another craft on the water. Furthermore, Echo had learned, the only thing greater than the Admiral’s ability to manage simultaneous tasks was his ability to micromanage everything else. Another afternoon with the blazing sun on his wings and back with the Flysenhower’s _constant_ commands in his head had Echo very much up the wall, in a figurative sense, and he inwardly begged to be returned to the night shift as the USS Flysenhower ordered yet another deck inspection. The carrier had inexplicably announced himself 'self-autonomous' at the end of the last leave and since then, with the removal of the Captain and all other forklift crew on Flysenhower's bridge, the Admiral's control was constant and, at times, overbearing. On a day like this, Echo flirted with the idea of simply rolling off the side of the deck. 

Bravo caught his eye and smiled, a hint of slyness in his gaze and tugging at the corner of his mouth, and Echo felt a moment of brief respite. At least with the day shift he could share the time with his counterpart- Flysenhower knew better than to split his _best_ team. The occasional glance, a furtive smile, a light touch and brush of wingtip or nose to the other’s promised a moment of clarity and some treasured time in the dark together below deck after the shift, away from constant orders, constant control. There was freedom in the taste of each other's mouths and the heat between their tailfins- away from the eyes of the Admiral.

Rolling at a crawling pace across the flat, hot deck for what seemed like the umpteenth time that week, Echo flicked his gaze back. Bravo, unfortunately, paid no attention. Feeling the burn of a playful urge, Echo decided he’d change that. Waiting for the right moment as a member of the deck crew moved to cross, a barrel of fuel securely atop his forks, Echo swung to the side. The collision was gentle, but sudden and unexpected, and the barrel slammed down to the deck, leaking a small dark puddle across the flat gray of the nigh spotless deck before the Flysenhower’s view.

Bravo was paying attention now, barely concealing a smile as the forklift rushed forward, righting the barrel and rushing off with a grin to place it where it belonged with an obvious gratefulness for the activity.

“That was careless,” the voice of the Admiral cut in, “Clean it up, immediately.” Echo moved forward and complied with an amused ‘affirmative’ in respond, and tilted forward to lick the spilled fuel. His mind had already fast-forwarded to the evening after shift, in the dark beside the engine room with Bravo, away from eyes and voices and orders- and Bravo knew it. Another comment rang through his radio, but he didn’t hear it. As he knelt and cleaned the deck with his raspy tongue, hot sun beating on the underside of his folded wings, Bravo's touch on his mind, for a moment he forgot his place. Moving too slowly with his last lick, Echo peeked up with his sly smile at the bridge and met instead the carrier's blue eyes with his own grey ones. Before he could stop himself, he winked.

The response was instant, and it was harsh.

“That is unacceptable behavior, _Captain_ Echo,” the Flysenhower hissed, voice cutting through Echo’s haze, “I will not be having insubordination on my decks. You are released from shift. Report below immediately.”

_Fuck!_

\-----------------------------------------

But there wasn’t any of that cocky, rebellious spirit lashing up from within any longer. Had he lost his God-damned mind on deck? The last slice of sun disappeared just as the elevator’s short journey ended with a ‘clunk’ on the lower deck.

  
“Report to armaments storage,” directed the Admiral’s flat voice. Echo felt a slice of nervousness creep in, rolling forward into the dark grey hallway in compliance. 

  
The lights clicked on one by one as the heavy blast door closed, a deep sound that Echo had heard only a few times. His night vision shifted back as the rows of wooden boxes came to view below the ugly fluorescent lights that stretched into the second-largest room below decks after the hangars. With the absence of any captain and XO after the Admiral’s self-pronounced ‘autonomy’, all weapons system control and the only permissions for access to the storage of the most valuable -and dangerous- cargo were held by the ship himself. With eight missiles of his own, latched beneath his wings and to his underbelly, he knew what laid quietly and currently unarmed on board could wipe a country off the map. Echo had never seen this room by himself, and it was not well laid out for the presence of an entire aircraft. He kept his wings folded, and moved slowly forward.  
  
“Well, Captain,” the Flysenhower’s voice cut in, “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“Er,” Echo stuttered, “I’m sorry, sir I-”

“That much is implied,” Flysenhower said, a curtness to his clipped enunciation. “What do you think you’re playing at, with that little performance?”

“I’m sorry, sir, I- I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m not one of your little friends ashore, Captain, with more thrust than brains. Don’t try that.”

“...Sir?”

“You’re a high performance aircraft, Captain Echo, act like it,” Flysenhower hissed, “You think I can’t see you? Your little looks. Your little jokes. _Your little excursions with Captain Bravo dow_ _n in propulsion,_ _C_ _aptain Echo, do you think I cannot_ _ **see**_ _you?”_

The hot prickling of embarrassment slammed into Echo’s chest and spread up his cheeks, and very suddenly he couldn’t quite catch his breath.

“Sir,” he stammered once more, “You _know_ about that?” Flysenhower laughed, a thin and mirthless sound. Feeling all but utterly cornered, Echo’s head began to pound. Of course he knew about that. Of course he could see it. _Of course_. _Fuck!_

“Sir,” Echo said quietly, voice and heart flattened. “That’s grounds for dismissal. I know. I’m sorry, sir. I don’t know what to say. I… I let things get out of hand.”

The silent seconds were unbearable, Echo feeling tiny, feeling insignificant as he sat quietly in his shame. The years of hiding it, the fear- Echo felt the fans of his engine begin to turn, bringing in much-needed air. The weight of the impending loss of his _and_ Bravo's careers bore down and he felt hot, too hot-

“Oh, I’m not going to dismiss you for that, Captain,” Flysenhower responded suddenly, emotionlessly. Echo’s head shot back up.“Sir, I…,” Echo could barely breathe, “Why?”

“For the same reason I let you two wear those _stupid_ helmets,” Flysenhower replied, with more than a hint of a sneer in his voice, “I’m forced to admit the fact that you’re my best fliers. I can count on you. It’s, ah, fair to let you have a little fun, from time to time.”

  
Stunned, Echo was silent but for his fans, mouth agape.

“And, well,” Flysenhower continued, with a sort of slyness that Echo had never heard, “Just like your little helmets, it's something I don't mind seeing from time to time, myself.”

“I… I’m sorry, sir?”

“You heard me, _Captain_ ,” the carrier sneered, “You spend enough time underway, you serve for as long as I have, and well, you might develop some, ah, _proclivities_.”

Hydraulic fluid pounding in his head, the flush of shame crept further forward as Echo realized just what the Admiral meant- something he’d never even begun to consider as a possibly. His head swam. 

"And can you blame me? A dozen warplanes like you on my decks at all times, light and lithe, nothing but thrust and firepower, all wings and engine- and here you are. You wanted a taste of me, didn't you?"   
  
Echo felt a little prickle of fear at the thought of the colossal nuclear carrier watching, spying on his body, spying on his secret passions. He felt a little flame of pride at the thought of the admiral holding a secret desire for his own airframe. With emotionless blue eyes, shaded beneath the brim of his cap, the carrier closely watched the aircraft in pre-flight check. Watched them lifting and extending their control surfaces, folding and unfolding their wings and stretching in the sun. He watched them clean each other and be cleaned. Echo's breath hitched in his throat. Almost daily, he'd been unwittingly putting on a show for his own Admiral of the Fleet. And he'd been none the wiser. His mouth ran dry. 

  
“I’m not going to dismiss either of you,” Flysenhower continued, and the relief of those repeated words washed over Echo like a cold breeze, “But I am going to teach you a little lesson.”

Echo froze.

“A lesson, sir?” Echo could only stammer, staring only forward. He hadn’t been actuating his microphone for input. The carrier could hear him as he stood. Could the carrier _see_ him, even now? Were there cameras? Fuck fuck _fuck-_

“A _lesson_ , Captain,” Flysenhower said, cutting him from his thoughts and mocking him with that same dangerous slyness as before, “I’m going to teach you a very important lesson.”

“What’s that, sir?” he asked weakly. Flysenhower laughed quietly, another low sound that was laced with threat instead of humor. Echo had never heard the carrier laugh before, and was in that moment very certain he never wanted to hear that sound again."...Sir?”

“Turn around, Captain,” Flysenhower directed, and waited, watching as Echo shakily complied, “Very good. Now, I want you to take off your starboard side AGM-84.”

“Sir?"

“Insubordination, again?”

Echo rushed to obey, leaning carefully to allow the heavy anti-ship missile below his wing to gently rest on the floor before unlatching it.

“It _is_ unarmed, sir,” Echo breathed hastily, as though to reassure.  
  
“I know that,” Flysenhower sneered, and Echo cringed as he righted himself, “Since you have such a mind for, hm, extracurriculars? You’re not going to get away with teasing on my decks. I’ll warn you this once and I won’t warn you again. Don’t you ever give me a look like that again unless you intend to follow through."

  
“Yes, sir,” Echo said softly, resignedly. He could feel the carrier’s gaze here in this very forbidden room just as it was on deck. Echo finally understood the phrase about how a silence could deafen, mind racing as the heat of shame threatened to overload him. The stray glance meant for Bravo had bought him a ticket to a destination he was nowhere ready for. This was more than he expected, and a lot more than he could deal with. Echo shook slightly where his wheels stood, head pounding hard as the realization dawned. 

“That’s more like it,” Flysenhower said, with a smile in his voice that brought back a surge of humiliation pressing down on Echo’s chest for the last time, before he melted finally, completely, into the Admiral's voice, into the hold of that white-hot and unrelenting control. “Turn and face that missile, Captain. I’m going to teach you to finish what you start.”


End file.
